He did not even finish the word before Sorcha spun around to face him. Her face burned hot with her fury at such an insult to the daughter of the Glenachulish MacDonalds.
“Tainted! Any man in all of Scotland would be privileged to have her to wife! They –”
Seamus grasped her flying hands in his and brought her close to his chest.
“Aye, my love. Ye are quite correct. But the rumors are what they are.”
Sorcha sagged against him, trying to keep her frustrated tears from falling. “Why are ye telling me this? Surely ye have no’ promised our lass to anyone. She’s still mourning!”
Seamus kissed her warm forehead. Her fury and sorrow burned off her like a fire.
“Aye, but the wolves hunt the weakest prey, and right now, Ada is about as weak as she will ever be. And the wolves are circling.”
“Surely ye canna think to betroth her to any of them?”
“As much as I would love to form another alliance, perchance an even stronger one, I would never know if ‘twas for the Highlands alone or for Adaira that they offered marriage. I will no’ shackle my only lass to a man set on abusing her for her position.” He exhaled and dropped his chin. “As much as I despise admitting it, at least until he disappeared, Sawny seemed to love Adaira wildly and for her. He cared naught for the politics or issues of the Highlands.”
Until he disappeared . . .
Those words rang in Sorcha’s head. While Seamus and Reade had their doubts for months, Sorcha had seen who Sawny and Adaira were when they were together. No lechery, no politicking, just two people who loved each other in a way rarely seen in this world.
And she would have argued anyone who spoke differently, until he disappeared.
“I’ve told Reade, Maddock, and Conall to keep the wolves away,” Seamus continued. “Reade, of course, is taking his role seriously. Maddock, surprisingly, engaged Arran to assist, and they are guarding the road, the gate, and the yard against anyone who might be drooling over a chance at Adaira. Despite all this, she will have to wed, and ‘twill have to be sooner rather than later.”
Sorcha pressed her cheek against her husband’s broad chest where the steady beat of his heart provided her a measure of soothing balm.
“I fear ye are right, and we shall have to act soon, with or without her voice in the matter.” Sorcha sighed heavily. “What will we do with our Adaira?”
“Conall, might I ask a favor of ye?”
Her brother’s pleasant face tightened and his eyes widened in surprise at Adaira’s appearance in the yard by the stables. He flicked his hazel green eyes to the tower, as if checking to see if she should even be out of her chambers. With the flat of his hand, he wiped his damp, light brown locks back over his forehead. It was a nervous habit of his, one Adaira had seen her poor brother make more than once.
Compared to his two older, bold brothers, Conall came off as a nervous lad.
Nay, not a lad anymore. He was a full man, but still trying to find himself, a difficult task with two bold characters that were his older brothers.
She looked at him pleadingly. He was not going to like her request but would do it anyway.
He was her brother, after all.
“Aye, Ada. Whatever ye need.”
Those were her father’s words in her brother’s mouth. Adaira was certain Seamus had told the family to cater to her every whim until she recovered.
As if she couldeverrecover.
She glanced down and picked at her plaid skirts as she entered the stables to join him. It had taken much out of her to get even get dressed and she could not bear to look at herself in her mirror. She hoped she did not appear too disheveled.
“I feel that I should visit Margaret, Sawny’s mother. Inasmuch as I have lost a betrothed,”(and the love of my being!), “she has lost a son. I would offer my sympathies and see how she fares.”
Conall’s lips thinned as he stiffened. Several breaths passed before he answered, and for a moment, she believed he might deny her request.
“No one better than ye, I suppose,” he finally responded.
Adaira nodded, a wave of warm relief washing over her that he agreed with her intentions. “Aye, none better, and probably much worse.” She lifted her arm that held a small, cloth-covered basket. “I’ve procured some fruit and preserves from the pantry. ‘Tis a paltry gift to assuage the burden of sorrow, but frankly, I have naught else and dinna know –”
“Aye, lass,” Conall interrupted, reaching for the basket. She was rambling, fighting off tears, and evidently, it was apparent enough for Conall to recognize her personal distress. “Let me carry that for ye. She will appreciate the sentiment, to be sure. I shall get ye on Rionnag. She’s freshly brushed.”
